


Rainy Day (Inktober Day 3)

by cherryberry12



Series: Inktober 2020 [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Blank Period AU, F/M, Smut, Uchiha Itachi Lives, Uchiha Itachi-centric, i wanted to move stuff around and changed my mind, moved from collection, sorry for any confusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26851012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryberry12/pseuds/cherryberry12
Summary: "If he let her have her way, Karin simply would not let him leave their bed."
Relationships: Karin/Uchiha Itachi
Series: Inktober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958443
Kudos: 6





	Rainy Day (Inktober Day 3)

**Author's Note:**

> This technically isn't anything new--I posted this as part of the collection this morning, and decided that was a bad idea and deleted the chapter to repost here. Going forward, I'm going to be posting all of my inktober fics as individual fics and adding them to a series. I feel like this will make the individual fics easier to parse through, since you'll be able to see which tags go to which fic, which is gonna come in handy when I start adding side ships and stuff too. I had initially thought these would be ~300 words a piece, so it made sense to have them all together, but it's becoming very clear that that is absolutely not going to be the case. 
> 
> Since this is the first M-rated fic, I feel like it makes more sense that this one should be by itself as well, so I removed it. 
> 
> Sorry for the confusion! 
> 
> As for this fic, it's set in the Blank Period, but is a branch off of the story I've started in Moving In, Moving On--Itachi and Karin are in an established relationship by this point. I'd put this at around 1-2 years after he returned to Konoha, but definitely on the further end of that scale.

If he let her have her way, Karin simply would not let him leave their bed.

“Send a crow instead,” Karin murmurs. She wraps her arms around his back and her legs worm in between his, her hand snaking around to grip the front of his shirt. “Give them a few exercises to work on and just meet with them another time.”

What Karin really means - what she does not need to say for him to understand it - _is you don’t have enough time for us all._

The idea that either of them would seek out anyone else’s company - even in the most innocent of ways - is foreign to Karin, and she’s never been particularly willing to indulge it.

On days like this, when the weather is poor and remaining in bed is a near-reasonable option, Karin is especially loath to let him go. Their home isn’t much, but they’ve lived in it long enough to make it comfortable, long enough that the thrum of rain hitting the roof is lulling, far more tempting than it ought to be.

“I shouldn’t be long,” he tells her, but even as he does his eyes are drawn to the window, to the dishwater-grey of the sky. Between the blur of rain and the blur of his own vision, the color is all he sees—dingy, dark grey.

He’s certainly trained in worse before, but that all would have necessarily been when he was a much younger, much healthier man.

Karin doesn’t like whatever is showing in his chakra—her hand twitches, gripping him tighter. Very little escapes her notice where he is concerned, least of all when he’s paying attention to something other than her.

“You’ll get sick out there,” she warns. “You’ll catch a cold from being out in the rain, and you’ll be sick and miserable for weeks.”

“Should that come to pass, I would be glad to remain in bed.” He sits up on his elbows, but Karin is a stubborn thing, has never been the sort to let him go so easy. She drapes herself across his lap, resting her folded arms and chin on his thigh. “And if I do get sick, you will of course be the fortunate one who gets to nurse me back to health.”

Karin isn’t quite as taken by the idea as he had imagined she’d be—she lifts her head long enough to shoot him a glare before she plops back down on his lap. “Just save us both the trouble and stay.”

He pats her head, smoothing down rough strands upset by sleep. “Really, I don’t intend to be gone for more than an hour or two.”

“That’s most of the afternoon,” she complains. “That’s lunch we could be having in bed.”

“It is.” His hand is still in her hair, sorting through kinks and tangles. “I suppose I still have a few moments before I’ll need to be going, if you’d allow me to make it up to you.”

(It is a concept that is still new to him, but one that has become all the more appealing over time—he does not ask permission or offer apologies, but only offers what he can while he is still able.

It is the difference, he supposes, between a man who will die alone, and a man who will leave behind at least one person to remember him fondly.)

Karin hums. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Sit in my lap.”

Karin gives him a sly look but obliges. She’s but docile, allowing him to manipulate her position, to part her knees over his hips and guide her hands to his shoulders.

He traces his hand up the inside of her thighs and Karin sucks in a breath, her grip tightening. The angle is far from ideal, but he likes her like this—likes that she’s warm and soft against him, that her thighs clench when he runs his fingers over the seam between her legs.

“Well?” he asks.

Her nose scrunches. “You’re being lazy,” she complains. “If you’re gonna make me do all the work I might as well do it myself.”

“Perhaps.” He offers her a sliver of a smile, which she refuses to return until he begins to ease her pants down. “Perhaps not.”

The two of them have very different views of what is enough or is too much where time is concerned, and they never seem to be entirely consistent—Karin had complained before about him leaving, but now she whines impatiently, pressing up against him until he finally slips his hand between her legs and slowly works one finger inside of her.

Karin rocks her hips into his hand, grinding down on his knuckles. It’s a far cry from the lazy morning rutting he’s come to expect from her, but she’s still warm from sleep, hot from arousal, and wet before he had even touched her.

“I want—” she begins, but her voice is cut off when he adds another finger and curls it inside of her. Her hips stutter against him and she hunches over him, her fingers digging into his back, her lips pressed against the pulse in his neck.

“Did you like that?” he asks. Karin answers with a shaky exhale and bucks against his hand, whining again when he’s too slow for her liking. Karin is reactive, responsive—any attention he pays her is returned tenfold.

Physical stimulation only hurries along the process, after all—what Karin really is after - what truly excites her - is him, his chakra, his attention.

His coaxing. “Is that a _yes_ , Karin?”

He swipes one thumb over her clit, and Karin muffles a heavy fuck into his hair.

“Are you telling me you want to come now, Karin?”

“Don’t—” Karin sucks in a breath. “Don’t fuck around, come—come on,” she grits out. He slows his pace anyway, and she sobs, “Please.”

A please from Karin is rare enough that he can’t help but oblige. He teases her neck with his teeth, never biting down but still relishing how sloppy and out of sync her thrusts become, how the very hint of a bite is enough to tip her over the edge.

He thumbs her clit and fucks his fingers into her until he feels her tighten around him, and she lets out a long, strangled moan. Her body stiffens and her thighs clamp down around his hand, her grip on his shoulders tight enough to bruise.

At least, tight enough to bruise someone as bruisable as he is.

“Mmhmng.” It’s nonsense, but Karin breathes it out in a long moan, her body going slack.

She slumps against him, her face warm against his bare shoulder. Itachi holds her close, running his fingers over the thin vertebrae in her back as she slowly comes down from her high. He gives her several moments to ride it out, holding his hand in place until she’s made a respectable mess of both his palm and wrist.

When she lets out another long, content sigh he finally pulls his hand away and helps her to shimmy her pants back in place. “Okay,” he says, placing a kiss against her jaw. “I do need to be getting ready now; I do not want the children to be waiting in this weather.”

Karin sighs again, decidedly less content this time.

His team is something of a pet project, something small that is at least enough to get him out of the house once a week or so. He has no real interest in taking on a squad as a jonin instructor, and he doubts Konoha would be thrilled by him taking too much of an interest in the next generation, even in an educational capacity.

Technically, he isn’t sure he’s even qualified to take on a squad—according to Karin, at some point since his return from Konoha, his status has changed back from _Missing-nin_ to _chunin._

Still, as unqualified, sick, and infamous as he may be, there’s a good deal he has to offer the village by way of genjutsu expertise, and a few hours of teaching every other week or so are hardly what he could call a large commitment. Turnout is sporadic, but there’s always at least one student willing to show up and allow him to critique their technique.

He has too much time as it is—with Sasuke, Sakura, and Naruto gone to travel the continent, and with his own shinobi career over indefinitely, there is very little left for him to tend to. In the summer he kept a garden, but the time to harvest has passed and the soil has been tilled for winter.

All he has now are plans for the next year and the next garden, should he be lucky enough that he lives to see either.

In the absence of any other obligations, it is almost too tempting to remain at home with Karin and do nothing.

In fact, he’s almost certain it is what she would prefer.

When he tips forward to lay Karin back on the comforter, she’s frowning up at him again. Thought-crime is a very real and very serious offense where Karin is concerned, and she’s never been particularly pleased to catch him in his morbidities.

He lays his hand flat over the naked bit of stomach where her shirt rides up and leans in to kiss her lightly on the nose. He feels he ought to be impressed by how committed she is to acting upset with him, but after another kiss or two she’s struggling to maintain her composure.

“You could always come with me,” he offers. “I’d certainly appreciate your company, and the children would hardly mind.”

Karin answers him with a garbled meh and rolls over onto her side. She has no particular interest in leaving the house at all when the weather is so dreary, and training has never appealed to her, nor have other people.

Despite the expansive reach of her sensing, Karin’s universe has always been confined to what is close to her and within her grasp—with Sasuke and his friends gone from the village, and his own health never quite as improved as it ought to be, Karin’s interests have grown even narrower, beginning and ending with him and going no further.

He’s made his peace with the numbers, though he knows they still trouble her. They’re unpredictable, ever changing, and he imagines that’s what is most troubling to her. One month Tsunade says he’ll live to see fifty, sixty with no problem, and the next it’s thirty if they’re lucky.

He’s had a good deal of time to make peace with his death—much more than Karin has, so it isn’t surprising that her attitude would not be quite as cavalier as his own.

Karin has been used and forgotten and left behind so many times by so many others that he can’t quite begrudge her that.

He cleans himself and changes out of his night clothes quickly. When he’s finished, Karin has not moved from the spot where he left her, back flat against the bed—spent and sated, perhaps, but still not entirely content.

It may very well be that she’ll still be in bed when he returns—it would not be the first time, and it would not be entirely unexpected from Karin either.

He struggles to find an issue with that. When he has exhausted himself and his team, Karin will still be at home, in bed, waiting only for him to come back to her.

It is a rather simple thing, but it is still one that has not always come easy for people like himself, people like Karin.

Itachi has no true place in the world where he belongs—no village, no team, no mission. No Sasuke either, not until Sasuke and his friends decide it is time to return to the village. Still, as long as Karin remains with him, there is a place where he is expected to return, and a person who would miss him dearly should he fail to do so.

Itachi kneels on the side of the bed before he leaves and presses one last kiss to the back of her head.

“It won’t take long,” he says again, “But thank you—thank you for waiting for me until then."

**Author's Note:**

> As always thank you for comments, kudos, shares, etc--this has been a huge endeavor compared to the amount of writing I usually do, but I've enjoyed it a whole lot.


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